


Sea

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir bathes Elrond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PockyGhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PockyGhost/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for pockyghost’s “Lindir bathing Elrond” hobbit bday prompt on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Sometimes, Lindir fills the bath with petals, applying subtle fragrances to bring the garden in, but today’s been too busy and he finished too late. The water’s plain, warm, reflecting the fading sun as they stand beside it. Lindir helps peel the crimson robes from his lord’s shoulders, revealing a fresh expanse of supple, creamy skin, until it’s a bundle for Elrond to step out of. 

Lindir no longer averts his eyes as he once did. He folds the robes with familiar motions while his head turns to the side, watching his beautiful master stand bare before the tub. As Lindir sets the robes next to Elrond’s circlet, Elrond dips his foot into the water, climbing inside with the stalking grace of a skilled warrior, safe in the luxuries of home. 

He sinks down with an almost imperceptible sigh, one hand along the rim and the other sweeping back his hair, tossing it over the edge so it isn’t wet just yet. He stretches out, long and lean, and rests back, while Lindir drifts closer, ever in awe of his lord. 

Still dressed, as any servant would be, Lindir kneels behind Elrond’s perch. He threads his fingers nimbly into Elrond’s hair, straight and silken against his trembling skin. He combs it a few times, not because there’s any need to but because he likes to prolong these sessions as long as he can, and then he brings the curtain over the edge of the bath. 

Seamlessly, Elrond leans forward. Lindir’s given room to dip Elrond’s hair into the water, press it down and continue to run through it, having to peel it away from clinging to Elrond’s spine. It wafts through the clear water artfully, growing heavy and raw in Lindir’s searching fingers. Lindir swishes it about for a moment or two before twisting it and running his hands up, dragging the water where he goes. 

He wets Elrond’s scalp in several scoops of miniature waterfalls, which Elrond tilts back to receive. His dark brown hair washes black when it’s soaked, still shining even in the dying light. When it’s drenched from end to end, Lindir retires to one of the two small bowls beside the tub, scooping out a blob of lavender cream. 

He rubs his hands together half to warm it, half to give himself an excuse to touch Elrond with as many digits as he can. Then he runs down the back of Elrond’s skull, weaving his fingers back into the waves, brushing through to spread the bubbling foam. When the first round is complete, Lindir returns to the top of Elrond’s head and splays his hands there, massaging his lord’s scalp with gentle fingertips and light squeezes, moving in slow circles. Elrond releases a contented sigh. Lindir attends him all the harder. Lindir’s body arches forward, leaning into it, his body rocking with each stroke, trying to give Elrond as much pleasure as possible, even in something so light as this. A near-moan spills from Elrond’s lips, and Lindir has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from reciprocating. He never tires of these rituals. 

“Another servant would have left by now,” Elrond muses, as he often does when Lindir goes above and beyond the call of duty. Imladris is hardly a strict home, and Lindir has more freedom than he cares to use. He prefers to stay and do _everything_ he can, _touch_ his beloved master as long as he can get away with.

He murmurs, “I will go if my lord orders it, but the sound of my tears from the hallway may ruin your soak.”

Elrond chuckles fondly, deep and wonderful. Lindir hasn’t always been so bold, but Elrond encourages open dialogue, and he replies smoothly, “You make it sound such a great honour to bathe an old man.”

Lindir makes a ‘tsk’ing sound. Elrond can be entirely too self-deprecating, all of it unwarranted. Lindir lifts higher on his knees, hands slipping to grip the sides of Elrond’s face, and he gently tugs Elrond back. Elrond allows the movement, even leaning into it, until he’s bent far enough that Lindir can loom over him and press a kiss to his lips upside-down. It’s only chaste, but it still lingers, warm and tempting. It’s difficult for Lindir to sink back afterwards, his more innocent duties awaiting him. 

He notes, “You cannot know how much I look forward to these moments.” And then he gives Elrond’s hair a final comb-through and dips his hands into the water, shaking them clean.

Still on his knees, Lindir crawls around the tub, coming to rest at the side. Elrond leans back again, relaxed and giving room, while Lindir gathers the bar of soap from the second tray into his palm. It works to suds quickly in his wet palm. He presses sideways over the rim of the rub and holds the pale pink bar against Elrond’s collarbone, tracing the sharp lines before working slowly down Elrond’s broad chest. It’s always a pleasure to trace his taut muscles this way, highlighting them in a trail of shimmering bubbles, idly zigzagging to catch every last bit. Lindir covers all of Elrond’s pecs, stopping to trace little circles around his brown nipples, then dips down his tight stomach, tracing all his abs. Though it’s been some time since Elrond last fought, even just in training, his warrior’s build is still evident. When Lindir reaches the water, he switches to his other hand, now drawing shallow cups of water up to wash away the soap. 

This is his favourite part. He wets Elrond, pressing his bare palm hard into Elrond’s skin, as though to rub the soap and water in with his flesh, and some places he wets several times. Elrond relaxes idly beneath his touch, allowing it everywhere, until Lindir dares to drag the soap below the water and trace the inside of Elrond’s strong thighs. 

Then Elrond scoots forward, his crotch pressing into Lindir’s hand, and Lindir stops for his hitch of breath. He’s so distracted by the feel of his lord’s hard shaft against his wrist that he doesn’t notice the rest until it’s too late: Elrond ducking back and scooping water up to rinse his hair. He does so thoroughly, even as Lindir makes a whining noise and tries not to whimper, “Why did you do that, my lord? I would have done so...”

Elrond offers a soothing smile, straightening again with slick-backed hair. He lifts one wet hand to cup Lindir’s cheek, and Lindir freezes, breathing hard. Elrond’s thumb pets across his chin, slowly tracing his bottom lip, and Lindir _moans_ , pressing forward into it. He comes apart so easily in Elrond’s hands, and Elrond knows. He runs his fingers down to splay along Lindir’s throat, parting his collar, and murmurs, so _sensual_ , “If you wish to bathe me as a lover, you should sit as one.”

Blushing thickly but still wantonly thrusting forward into Elrond’s hand, Lindir mumbles, “It would be inappropriate for a servant to share a bath with his lord...”

“And to share a bed too, yet you seem to have deemed that worth it. I assure you, my dear Lindir, the only one who thinks you unworthy of anything of mine is yourself.”

It’s true, and he knows it, but he doesn’t know how to explain that he _likes_ it that way: likes marveling in how lucky he is to have the lord of Imladris’ heart. He gets a strange satisfaction out of _serving_ , bowing and scraping and bringing ease to Elrond’s day. Still, it’s difficult to ignore Elrond’s beckoning when it’s delivered bare and wet. 

With a sigh, he nods his head, obliging. Still on his knees, Lindir parts his robes, aware of his lord’s eyes on him as he does so. He unclips the clasps one by one, looking elsewhere with pink cheeks—he never thinks himself nearly so handsome as the man he loves, though Elrond breathes appreciatively, “Beautiful.” When the robes are all undone, Lindir stands out of them, stepping out of his sandals to leave it all behind. 

He dips into the water clumsily, glad it’s still warm, lapping teasingly around his skin. Elrond’s legs pull back to give him room, and Lindir settles in to the other side, relieved when the water doesn’t pour over the edge. There isn’t quite enough room for them to sit comfortably like this, and their legs touch. It sends a thrill down Lindir’s spine. He finds the soap again and returns to his task, rubbing it hard against Elrond’s thighs before gliding over his knees, cleaning every part of him. Lindir does Elrond’s arms last, one at a time, holding Elrond’s hand lovingly in his.

Before Lindir can put the soap away, Elrond takes it from his hand. Lindir relinquishes easily, albeit confused, until Elrond’s other hand is reaching for him. Elrond turns him, making the water slosh against the sides as he pulls Lindir ever closer. He pulls guides up, right over his legs, to sit in his lap, facing outward, while Lindir gasps and shoots his hand over his mouth to keep his noises still. He’s held right against Elrond’s chest, his sensitive thighs parted around Elrond’s legs, one arm tight around him. He can feel Elrond’s hard shaft against his rear, thrust between his cheeks, and it makes him long for things that would spoil the point of this bath entirely. Elrond gathers all of Lindir’s hair and sweeps it over one shoulder, so that it’s all skin-to-skin. Then he leans over Lindir’s shoulder to peck Lindir’s cheek, and Lindir _melts_. 

It’s a strange sensation, Elrond cleaning him, but that’s what Elrond does. He drags the soap along Lindir’s thin chest, tracing the lean lines of his body the same way Lindir did to Elrond, except that was a servant doting on their lord and this is his master serving _him_. Something about it feels vaguely _wrong_ , in a debauched, naughty sort of way, and that makes him shudder with _want_ , and moan a quiet, “ _My lord_...”

“You are such a pretty thing, my Lindir,” Elrond sighs, as he the bar dips below the water to trace Lindir’s thighs, up from his knee to just against his middle, right above his straining cock. He’s been hard since they started, often is when he’s attending Elrond, but he never expects to have anything come of it. Elrond doesn’t seem to mind the attention, but rather, drags the soap around it, teasing and tantalizing. Lindir squirms, his ass grinding back against Elrond, and he thrusts suddenly into it, only to try again, writhing and rolling himself against Elrond’s cock as much as he can. Elrond, patient as ever, only continues to trace his most intimate areas. When the bar of soap finally presses against Lindir’s tight balls, Elrond’s other hand smoothes flat across Lindir’s chest to tweak his right nipple, and Elrond’s mouth opens along his shoulder. Lindir lets out a pained cry, so desperately _aroused_ , and Elrond hums approvingly against his skin. 

“M-my lord...” Lindir moans as he grinds himself shamelessly into Elrond’s shaft. “I cannot... I fear I cannot bear this long...”

“We will finish soon,” Elrond promises, voice steady and light. He detangles from Lindir’s body to Lindir’s pathetic whimpers, and instead lovingly wets Lindir’s hair. It’s traced once with a layer of soap, then rinsed in quick touches that drive Lindir mad—he has to lean away from Elrond’s body to allow the room. He grinds against Elrond’s legs instead, making the water ripple tellingly around him. 

As soon as Elrond twists out and replaces Lindir’s hair over his shoulder, Lindir turns, scrambling awkwardly in a circle with his legs parting around Elrond’s waist. His arms loop around Elrond’s shoulders, and his body rocks forward, his head falling for a kiss, full of wanting tongue. They kiss and move together, Lindir trembling and squirming and rolling in thrust after thrust, and Elrond leisurely stroking Lindir’s hips and holding him close. The water’s growing cool, but Lindir would wish to stay if it were ice, and he kisses and squirms and begs until Elrond gently pushes him back, holding him just at bay.

“I suggest we retire to the bed before I become any more wrinkled,” Elrond muses, wearing his usual wise smile. 

Lindir scrunches his nose and insists, “You are not old, and you are beautiful.” Elrond merely grins and pulls Lindir back to touch their noses, rubbing slightly. 

Lindir dares for another kiss. But Elrond keeps it short, sighing after, “You are entirely too good to me.”

Lindir smiles so wide that it almost hurts, and he adoringly pecks Elrond’s forehead. 

Then he obeys his lord’s wishes and climbs out of the tub, wrapping the single towel around himself and rushing off to fetch another.


End file.
